


blood pact

by orphan_account



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Coda, Gen, Non-Consensual Kissing, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, ok technically pre-s2, what's a little non-consensual kissing between frenemies?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Distantly he can hear the sounds of heavy, booted footsteps pounding down the short stairway leading to the door. Any second now, Alfie thinks, a furious panic welling up red hot in his chest, and for an unpleasant second he wonders if he’ll have to fight his way out.Then he has an idea."orDarby Sabini attempts to fuck him. So Alfie Solomons fucks him back.
Relationships: Alfie Solomons & Darby Sabnini
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	blood pact

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't supposed to be romantic by any means. don't think i should have to say this but i will.
> 
> anyways i haven't seen a single take on how their war started! admittedly this is a reach and it was definitely just some petty business thing but i had this idea and wrote it because that's how it goes. i think i actually invented their relationship tag

“Stay, won’t you? There’s no rush. I’ve got some of your rum– in fact, why don’t we have a little toast? To our, uh, partnership.”

Sabini knows he doesn’t drink. It dawns on Alfie, with that little comment and the way he eyes the door, and all the little hints that have been adding up throughout their meeting thus far, that the coppers on Sabini’s payroll are coming. 

Here. To arrest him.

Sabini, the fucking quisling piss-guzzling little ingrate, the rat-faced whoreson _bastard,_ has arranged to have him _fucking arrested._

And his fucking smarmy arse dripping smugness all over the table between them, which Alfie is about to grind his thick skull into until the splinters are fucking obliterated, makes sense all of a sudden. 

A set up, this whole fucking arrangement. Wanting to hand over illegal profits personally _“to further negotiate their business”,_ what a fucking joke. And Alfie had _known_ it was a joke. 

He’d recognized that something was decidedly wrong as soon as he’d walked into this disreputable venue, of course, because he’s not a fucking idiot, thank you, but he didn’t think it’d be a problem he has to manage _right now._ But Sabini’s decided to fuck him, today, right now.

Alfie, now, will have to play this carefully.

“Why not, mate?” he says.

It’s his good white rum, of course. Sabini would never lower himself to the brown stuff, not even to spite Alfie. The one sip he’s had lingers behind his teeth, sweet and alcoholic and heady, reminding Alfie why he doesn’t drink. 

Distantly he can hear the sounds of heavy, booted footsteps pounding down the short stairway leading to the door. Any second now, Alfie thinks, a furious panic welling up red hot in his chest, and for an unpleasant second he wonders if he’ll have to fight his way out. 

Then he has an idea. A brilliant, outrageous, altogether asinine idea that, should it go poorly, would leave him in a state even worse off than he would be if he didn’t go through with it. 

But he’s Alfie fucking Solomons, isn’t he, and desperate too. Never make Alfie desperate.

Alfie heaves the table between them aside, glasses and his good white rum crashing to the floor, and shoves himself forward into the last few steps of space, victory crowing in his chest, perhaps a little premature, as he sees the bastard’s smug face falter. He makes a grab for his wrists, shoves both their bodies backwards into the hard, cold wall, and forces his mouth down over Sabini’s.

The door bursts open behind them.

Alfie’s shoving his head backwards into the hard wall had resulted in it bouncing with a sickening crack and the sharp point of his nose into Alfie’s cheekbone, which– nasty, that. Definitely leave a bruise.

Sabini’s body squirms frantically beneath him, arms pinned awkwardly against the concrete, one by the wrist and one by his side by Alfie’s forearm; he’s got no leverage, bucking forward like a panicked animal and trying to recoil simultaneously, but then he steps _hard_ onto Alfie’s foot, and that just won’t fucking do, will it, so Alfie knocks his knee into the space between his legs and presses it threateningly against the bastard’s crown jewels while muffling the outraged, hurt noises against his mouth. 

It’s fucking painful, it is, would never call it a kiss of any kind, because it’s not, it’s teeth against teeth with only the thin layer of lips between them, faintly slick from Sabini’s mouth as he’d not shut it quite in time. 

He’s got the backstabbing wop trapped, frozen in a righteous fear of getting his balls crushed. It feels fucking powerful, he will admit. 

Behind them, the coppers have presumably stopped, in horror at the _sinful, debased affront_ to their delicate sensibilities. Alfie hears the chorus of exclamations, the scrape of pissant boots on the floor, the awkward shuffle of uniform coats, the groans of disgust and the twittering of mutters between them. Incompetents, the lot of them.

Alfie keeps his gaze fixed on Sabini’s, watching slightly cross-eyed the way every single last thing the little rat feels at this unmitigated violation reflects back through them, the sweep of scandal to revulsion to Alfie- and faggotry-inspired bloodlust. Glassy, up close, and burning. 

Catholic that he is, he’s probably too raging and distraught now, but he’ll be praying forgiveness of his God later for engaging in such unholy behavior. Alfie finds it endlessly amusing, what cripples Christian god-fearing men like him; nevermind the killing and bribing and general sin of their lives, it’s _sodomy_ that they can’t stand, too dirty, too sordid. 

In a way, this is worse than anything else Alfie could do to him, and that makes it sweeter, makes it almost worth doing this to himself. Because he’s not exactly delighted by their current little arrangement himself, right, but he does what needs to be done.

Seconds tick by. Breath huffs harsh and hot from Sabini’s nose onto the skin of his cheek, his idiotic furry mustache scraping against the base of his nostrils and upper lip. Alfie is sure to follow him as he attempts to twist his face away, deliberately cruel with the pressure he exerts onto him, pushing forward further into the wall. 

Then Sabini fucking bites him, that bitch. 

Alfie wants to rear back at the searing sting radiating from the teeth digging in his upper lip like a fucking animal, but he doesn’t; knocks his forehead down against Sabini’s instead, hearing skull hit concrete for the second time, and when Sabini’s mouth goes lax in pained surprise Alfie finds the flesh of his lower lip between his own teeth and bites back, harder.

Blood runs iron-heavy and sweet into Alfie’s mouth, Sabini’s mixing with his like two lads making a blood pact, cutting each other and sealing the deal. 

The coppers seem to be filing out, and in his shock that this impossible scheme of his actually worked, Alfie absentmindedly allows his body to relax, just slightly. 

Immediately Sabini’s begun wriggling beneath him with renewed alarm, his balls be damned. Alfie can feel his grip on his wrist slipping, the other arm having freed itself while he wasn’t paying attention and is now shoving furiously at his shoulder, and doubles down, grunt caught between their blood-wet mouths.

Behind him, he hears _“–better be paid double for that fucking display–”_ and it makes him grin a little, vengefully, delighted at the inconvenience he’s causing, though admittedly frustrated the coppers aren’t outright refuting their little agreement with Sabini, which would be preferable and perfectly likely, sodomy being a crime and all, and more offensive than murder. 

Never underestimate money, Alfie thinks. Money drives all men.

In this second and more damning moment of distraction, Sabini pushes his whole body against him like a drowning man scrambling for a life raft and manages to throw him off, sending Alfie quite rudely onto the floor arse-first. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” Sabini screams at him, half-folded with the effort, then again: “What the _fuck_ was that?!” 

He’s got one hand in his jacket, searching for the gun that isn’t there– that was agreed upon before they both arrived, guns are left at the door. But old habits and all.

He looks fucked, he does, face a putrid red and greasy hair mussed by the wall, eyes bugging out, blood smeared on his lips and still running down his chin, chest heaving, jacket crumpled and unflatteringly bunched at the armpits, poncy tie askew.

Alfie figures he must look about the same, mirrored down on the ground. He grins up at him for a moment, teeth bared and bloody, then drops it. 

“You fuck me, I fuck you, mate.”

Sabini recoils, disgustedly wrinkling his nose–slightly swollen already, Alfie notes with satisfaction–then makes a show of stepping around Alfie’s prone body and walking out without another word.

Alone in the room, now, Alfie stands as well. Brushes down his clothes delicately, inordinately relieved his frankly unthinkable tactic actually worked and more than a little pleased with himself. 

He spits blood, his and Sabini’s, onto the floor. Blood pact, right. 

Good fucking riddance.

**Author's Note:**

> don't hesitate to let me know what you think!


End file.
